Miracle in the Making
by Orlissa
Summary: Or one in which Haylie Grace Ward is born in the Playground, and everybody is trying not to freak out, but some don't suceed. Some happy family fluff AU in my Haylie/Ada/Ellie universe with the contribution of the whole team.
1. Part I

**A/N:** This is one of my stories that went stupidly out of hand. I started writing it maybe back in March, planning it to be a cute little one-short about Haylie's birth. Currently, it is 12K words, and I haven't finished it yet. But since I haven't updated that much lately, I thought it was time to start sharing it with the public – in smaller parts. So here is the first chapter now, and I'm bringing the next tomorrow. I hope you'll like it :)

* * *

 **Part I**

Grant had imagined this happening numerous times, especially in the last couple of weeks – with the worst case scenarios happening while he was away on a mission, and then there was even a nasty nightmare when it happened right in the middle of a HYDRA attack –, but he had never envisioned this particular possibility.

"Guys, I don't want to alarm anybody, but I guess I'm going into labor."

Skye's announcement, happening on a Sunday evening, just after dinner, six days before her official due date, said in a completely calm voice, while sitting on the couch in the base's lounge, her tablet in her lap, looking like anything but a woman in labor, was almost surreal. But it sure made Grant's heartrate spike in a fraction of a second.

He was at her side right away, crouching in front of her on the floor, one hand on her belly.

"Are sure? What are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Skye actually rolled her eyes.

"Please, Robot, don't look at me like that!" she said, touching his face. "I'm not about to break, I promise. But yes, I'm pretty sure."

"What makes you say that?" The question came from Jemma this time, who appeared at Skye's side almost as soon as Grant, sitting beside her on the couch.

"Well, I've been feeling this… tightening in my lower belly for some time, it started some time before dinner, I guess – and no, they don't really hurt, it's just kinda uncomfortable" she added, casting a glance at Grant. "They seemed to come pretty regularly, so I timed them, and yeah, they come every twenty minutes or so, so I don't think that they're Braxton-Hicks, but–"

"Contractions, yes, they sound like that," Jemma nodded, rubbing Skye's arm. "We should take a look at you, just to make sure it's not a false alarm."

Grant just nodded along. He was supposed to have a pretty good idea what was happening – he did his reading –, but at the moment everything seemed fractured and nothing was really registering in his brain, so he thought that following Jemma's lead was the soundest decision.

"Yes, of course," he said, standing up, but keeping Skye's hand in his own. "Can you walk? Do you want me to carry you?"

He could have sworn Skye rolled her eyes at him (once again).

"I'm perfectly capable to walk to the med bay, thank you. I told you, the contractions – even if they are real contractions – don't even hurt yet. And the last one just passed, anyway." She pulled her hand from his grip and tried to push herself up from the couch. It didn't really work. "But maybe you could help me stand up?"

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, after taking Skye's vitals, attaching some kind of small, wireless sensors to her belly – similar to the ones they used on him when he was under the Berserker Staff's influence –, and taking a look down there, Jemma confirmed what Skye had already suspected herself: she was in labor.

"See these spikes here?" Jemma said, holding up a tablet that displayed the readings recorded by the sensors on Skye. "This was a contraction. A weak one, yes, but a real one nonetheless. And you are almost completely effaced, and have started dilating – it's minimal, but it's there."

"What does it mean exactly?" Grant asked, standing beside Skye as she sat on the examination table, grasping her hand.

"It means that the process has started," Jemma explained, putting down the tablet, looking at Skye, "but you're still in the very, very early stages. I say the baby won't actually be born until morning, or dawn at the earliest. But it could be longer than that – first labors can go on for long, sometimes even for days," she added, looking at Grant, who acknowledged it with a curt nod.

"What a lovely prospect," he heard Skye mutter, and he squeezed her hand, not taking his eyes off of Jemma.

"And what should we do now?" he asked with a kind of determination he usually reserved for missions. Well, it was kind of like a mission.

Jemma's face softened.

"Just rest for now," she said, turning back to Skye. "Try to get some sleep while you can. You'll need your energy. You too, Grant," she added, knowing that he planned to stay with Skye all through her labor. "Meanwhile I'm going to contact Dr. Hartland, keep her posted. But as far as I can tell everything looks good, so I don't think she'll want to come right away."

It had been clear from the start that it would be the best if Skye gave birth at the base instead of in a hospital – in case she accidentally caused an earthquake during labor, or the doctors looked too deep into her bloodwork, found something strange, and started asking questions. But since S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have an abundance of OB/GYNs, they contacted an old acquaintance of May's and asked her to observe the pregnancy and deliver the baby at the base when the time came. Although Jemma did most of the exams at the Playground and then forwarded the results to her, he and Skye had met the doctor a couple of times. He liked the woman – she was in her mid-fifties, and possessed a kind, but no-nonsense attitude.

"Alright," Skye nodded, absent-mindedly caressing her belly. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, sure," Jemma moved right away to help her off the table, prompting Grant as well to put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her. "Just keep the sensors on, okay? And keep it easy – but really, you can do anything that feels right. And try to stay relaxed – that helps. Oh, and tell me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Jemma," he said while Skye just gave her a little a little agreeing sound as she stood again. She looked a bit timid, maybe a little zoned out – she even let Grant lead her to the door, a certain level of coddling that otherwise annoyed her these days –, but still, she seemed remarkably calm – the exact opposite of what Grant was feeling.

It only half surprised him that half of the base – or at least their immediate team – seemed to be standing outside the med bay, with various levels of worry and anxiety written on their faces. Seeing her unofficially adopted family gathered all together for her made Skye smile.

"It seems like it is show time," she told them, her gaze moving from person to person. "But the doc says it's gonna be a while, so everybody can calm down for now and get some rest – at least that's what I'm going to do," she added with a nervous little laugh, her eyes still scanning the people around her. "Coulson?"

"Tried to call him, but he's turned off," May said, stepping forward. "He must be still at the meeting. But don't worry," she added, placing her hand on Skye's shoulder, "I'll keep calling him, and will let you know as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Skye replied (it wasn't even a secret that she regarded Coulson as a surrogate father – especially after technically having lost her own father –, and that she wanted to have him around for the birth of her baby), then took a half-step forward, and briefly embraced May. The older woman didn't hesitate a moment to reciprocate the gesture.

"Now, off you go," May said a second later, letting Skye go, her voice suspiciously hoarse. "Have some rest."

Skye nodded, somewhat misty-eyed, then reached back, searching for Grant's hand. Accompanied by a couple of encouraging – and sometimes awkward – back pats and brief hugs, they made their way towards their bunk.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and another contraction later, Skye was sitting on their bed in an old pair of PJs (in case her waters broke while she slept – she didn't want to ruin a perfectly good pair), calmly brushing her hair.

He just couldn't comprehend how she could have been this put together – as for him, he was a big ball of nerves, ready to combust and to have her under complete medical surveillance (as if the sensors still attached to her belly weren't enough). To be completely honest, he was more than dreading the coming hours, and if it were up to him, he would have fast-forwarded to the point where they have their daughter in their arms.

But of course, the world didn't go according to his whims.

Sitting down carefully next to her on the bed, he watched as she brushed a long lock, softly humming under her breath something he recognized as one of the lullabies she had learned in the last couple of weeks. He just stared at her mesmerized for a while, then _needing_ to do something, he reached for the brush.

"Let me," he said softly, taking it from her hand. She let him do it, as she always did, and he finished the brushing gently, without a word. He was already partitioning her locks into three, getting ready to braid it, when he finally spoke.

"How can you be so calm?" he asked, and he wanted to go on, but she just shrugged.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It might be that it doesn't feel that real yet? I mean…" she sighed. "It doesn't exactly feel like labor yet – at least not what I imagined it would be. And it might be the hormones, too. Who knows?" She paused for a moment, then without seeing it, he felt her smile. "You know my mother started cleaning the house – while my father slept – when she went into labor with me? She told me when… it doesn't matter," she shook her head; her biological parents were still a sensitive issue. "What I'm trying to say is that maybe I'm genetically coded not to freak out about it. But instead of cleaning, I just want to rest."

Grant let out a low hum as he reached for a hair tie to secure her braid.

"It's for the best," he agreed, "because I'd sure as hell freak out if I woke up to find you dusting between contractions."

She let out a short laugh as she lay down.

"Believe it or not, that's exactly what my father did," she went on, lying on her side facing Grant, as he expertly placed a pillow between her knees and under her belly – a routine they'd come up with in the last couple of weeks, figuring out the most comfortable way for her to sleep. He pulled the light comforter over her, as she wiggled and sighed contently, closing her eyes.

"Though I have to admit, I'm _just a bit_ excited to finally meet her," she, her lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes again, squinting at him as he lay down as well. "What about you?"

He let out a nervous little chuckle.

"I'm desperately grasping for control – something I absolutely cannot have in this situation," he told her, reaching for her hand. "And I'm a little afraid, I guess – of anything going wrong."

Skye gave him a sleepy smile.

"Nothing's gonna happen – well, expect for us having a baby," she said, curling her fingers around his wrist, and pulling his hand down to her belly; the skin was taut and round under his palm, but the baby was still – maybe she was sleeping as well, getting ready for her biggest journey yet. He couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"Yeah, that's pretty great," he agreed.


	2. Part II

**Part II**

Skye fell asleep quickly, resting peacefully, the shorter strands of her hair framing her smooth, serene face. Grant, on the other hand, just couldn't close his eyes. He kept tossing and turning, the sheets twisted around his legs, too worked up to rest.

He kept trying for a while, closing his eyes, doing breathing exercises to bring down his heartrate, recalling calming images, hell, he even tried counting sheep, but nothing seemed to work. After maybe an hour, ha gave up, and tried to simply watch Skye sleep, forcibly keeping himself from touching her, so not to disturb her, but he soon proved to be too highly strung to do even that. So around eleven pm – maybe two hours after they had gone to bed – he gave up all the pretenses of rest, and carefully got out of the bed.

He went to the bathroom first, splashing cold water to his face – he looked somewhat pale in the mirror, but that might have simply been the fluorescent lights –, then still feeling too anxious, he decided to leave the room, looking for some kind of distraction. He pulled the first T-shirt that he could grab from the dresser – he noted with a little smile that it was one of those atrocious shirts Skye had gotten him, with silly pictures on the front –, pulled it on, then as silently as he could, walked to the door.

It shouldn't have been that surprising – it wasn't that late yet, after all –, but it still startled him a little to find the lounge occupied. Most of their team was there, feigning calmness and nonchalance, but visibly nervous: Jemma was in the galley, washing the dishes - manually, not with the dishwasher, a surefire sign that she needed something simple to occupy her mind with -, Bobbi, Lance, Trip and Mack were sitting around the conference table, half-heartedly playing some card game and sipping beers that Grant suspected had long since gone lukewarm, while Fitz was sitting on the couch, a suspiciously colorful book in his hands, although it didn't seem like he turned the page in some time. May was nowhere to be seen – Grant guessed that she was either trying to get a hold of Coulson, or, being seemingly the only sensible person on the team, was resting now, so there would be at least one fully functioning person when everybody else was out because of the exhaustion.

Fitz was the one who spotted him first.

Perking up, eyes round like saucers, he hastily closed the book and turned towards Grant, already half-ready to jump up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. "Is she–"

Grant raised a hand to stop the question as he sat down next to Fitz.

"She's asleep."

"And you?" This time the question came from Jemma, who moved to stand behind the couch in the meantime.

"I couldn't – too anxious," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

Jemma smiled kindly and patted him on the shoulder – a gesture that would have made him cringe two years ago, but one that was more than welcome now.

"I'll make you some tea – it should help to calm your nerves. And then maybe you can sleep a bit, too," she said, already in full mother hen mode; Grant had discovered it a long time ago that whenever Jemma Simmons was nervous, or felt helpless, she liked to make herself busy in the kitchen - hence the dish washing and offering to make him tea –, and care for others.

He slowly shook his head.

"No, thanks." To be honest, he didn't even feel like sleeping. "But do we have some coffee?" he asked, standing up – if he was going to stay up all night, and possibly well into the next day, he might as well pack some fuel.

Her hand still on his shoulder, Jemma pushed him back to the couch.

"You just stay here," she told him. "I'll get it for you. Anybody else?"

There was a faint murmur of agreement, as Fitz and their friends sitting by the conference table – who had since stopped playing and were silently paying attention to Grant and Jemma's exchange – asked for some, too. It seemed like they were intent on waiting alongside with him, and it made Grant smile faintly.

Silence fell on the room while Jemma prepared the coffee. In the meantime, Grant had the chance to steal a glance at Fitz's book – it was a copy of _Curious George_ ; not that it surprised him – although their daughter was still yet to be born, the book (which was supposed to be a gift for her) was already dog-eared, and Grant was sure that if his baby could talk right after birth, she would recite the book from the first word to the last; hell, maybe he could do that, too, for all the times he'd listened Fitz reading from it to Skye's belly.

"So, have you managed to decide on the name yet?" Lance asked, raising from the table and sauntering towards him, beer still in hand. "You know – the time is ticking," he teased, probing his bare wrist with his finger. Grant let out a soft snort.

"Well, we have a short list," he admitted; it really was a short, short list, and they had their favorites – both of them. "It's just felt wrong to name her before she was born somehow," he shrugged.

"Afraid to mess it up even on day zero?" Bobbi asked with a sympathetic little smile, sitting down next to Lance. Slowly, everybody from the conference table migrated to the couches.

"Something like that," Grant answered with a not, a faint smile on his face.

"Don't worry," Bobbi continued, leaning forward a bit and placing her hand on his knee, "we won't let you do anything too stupid."

"And if everything else fails," Trip chimed in, moving towards the kitchen to help Jemma, "just remember: Antoinette is a beautiful name," he said, grinning, as he started to distribute the coffees.

"Yes," Fitz quipped in, scowling. "And the most famous wearer of the name was beheaded. If you ask me, it's a bad omen," he said, looking pointedly at Trip, and getting a good-natured sneer in answer. "But," he continued, "I've always liked the name Cordelia."

Lance raised his eyebrows, looking from one guy to the other.

"I really can't decide who hates that little gal more; you," he tipped the neck of his beer bottle towards Trip, "or you," he continued, this time pointing the bottle at Fitz. Then he turned towards Grant. "Honestly, mate, you two can come up with only better names than those two."

"Meanwhile," Jemma interrupted at the most opportune moment, forestalling the coming fight over the names, "I've called Dr. Hartland" she said, walking to the couches a tray with coffee and cups in her hands, Trip right behind her. "Sent over Skye's charts as well. She's in delivery right now, but she agrees with me on that the baby won't be delivered until morning the earliest, and that so far everything looks just fine. She said she'll call when she finishes with her current patient, and then we can send for her." She looked around the room. "Who can drive out for her?"

Dr. Hartland's practice was about two hours out from the base – two hours there, two hours back in the middle of the night didn't sound too appealing, but Trip, who had since taken seat on the couch, nodded right away, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

"I'll do it," he said, but then raised a warning finger. "But you'd better keep me posted while I'm away. And tell mommy not to dare to pop that baby while I'm en route with the doc!"

Grant gave him a little agreeing nod as he, alongside with everybody, let out a low chuckle at Trip's words. The soft laughter soon died out, leaving silence and thinly veiled nervous tension in the room.

"You know," Mack said at last, opting to finish his beer instead of having coffee, "I think it's better that you guys are having the baby here; when my cousin's first baby was born, they got stuck in the traffic on their way to the hospital. Man, it wasn't pretty…"

* * *

Trying to somehow ease their nerves and make the time go faster until something actually happened, they proceeded to fill the night with silly, baby-related anecdotes. Agents or not, everybody seemed to have a story: Bobbi once got a baby thrust into her arms in a middle of a mission, when she should have been following her target; Lance turned out to have an abundance of nieces and nephews; back in kindergarten, Fitz was once bested by his then baby cousin. Grant didn't have similar stories – and the ones he had he didn't want to share –, but he was more than happy to listen to them, because at least they helped to put his mind off of the actual happenings.

Then, not long after midnight, something did happen – Skye waddled into the room, looking somewhat tired, but otherwise no worse for wear.

As soon as he saw her, Grant was on his feet, ready to help her to the couch, but she just waved him away – but then she let him hold her elbow as she sat down; Grant settled back next to her, while Fitz edged closer on Skye's other side, until their thighs were almost touching.

"I couldn't sleep them through anymore," she explained before anybody could have asked anything. "I tried, but I was getting to the point when by the time I got comfortable again, the next one was coming," she said, leaning her head on Grant's shoulder.

Hearing this, Jemma promptly picked up the tablet left on the coffee table, turned it on, and pulled up the readings of Skye's sensors. She studied them for a minute – meanwhile Grant watched her with unblinking eyes –, then nodded let out an approving little sound.

"Yes, you are down to nine minutes; that's good – you were at seventeen nearly five hours ago." Skye let out a moan at that, burrowing her face in Grant's shirt; she must not have thought that it was such a good thing. "And your and the baby's vitals are great as well," she nodded to herself. "How are the contractions? They are getting more intense, right?"

Skye let out a wry little chuckle, raising her face from Grant's shoulder – he grabbed her hand in the meantime – and looking at Jemma.

"Intense sounds about right; they are definitely on the painful side by now," she said then turned to him, as if to ease his worries. "But they're not that bad, really, completely – oh…" she trailed off, placing her free hand on her lower belly.

Everybody – save Jemma, whose eyes were glued to the screen of the tablet – watched her intently, as she shut her eyes and breathed evenly in and out; the whole thing lasted maybe about half a minute, then her posture relaxed, and with one last, deep exhale, she reopened her eyes.

"Yeah, completely manageable," she finished her sentence, squeezing Grant's hand. She looked around the room, a funny expression appearing on her face; he followed her gaze, and saw it as well – most of their teammates present looked positively uneasy about witnessing her contraction, while Fitz seemed absolutely terrified (which didn't surprise Grant a bit – the engineer was maybe even more anxious about the pregnancy than him, and coddled Skye just as much, if not more. One would have thought that _he_ was the father).

"It seems like you are definitely making progress," Jemma observed, putting down the tablet. "I guess you are entering the active phase about now."

Skye let out a little groan at that.

"That doesn't sound too promising," she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for everybody to hear. Grant let out a little chuckle in spite of himself.

Jemma looked at her sympathetically.

"If you want pain relief, we could…" she gestured vaguely towards the corridor, where they had installed the temporary delivery room in one of the unused bunks near the med bay. Skye merely shook her head.

"No, it's okay, really, I can manage it," she assured Jemma. "I just want to stay here a little longer, okay? Feels good to be around people."

Jemma gave her a little nod, consenting to it.

"Alright – do what feels right, of course," she said almost absent mindedly, then looked around the room, brain evidently in overdrive about what else they could and should do while she labored. "Food! Do you have an appetite?" she blurted out a moment later.

Fitz perked up right away.

"Yes! You should eat – you'll need your energy."

Skye blinked at them, a little dazed, then nodded, burrowing herself deeper into Grant's side. His arm went around her slight shoulder right away, hand caressing her upper arm.

"Yeah, I could eat," she admitted.

Fitz jumped up instantly, almost tripping over his own feet in his eagerness.

"We have spaghetti in the fridge – is that good?" he asked, more from Jemma than from Skye; Jemma thought about it for less than a moment before nodding.

"Yes, absolutely – carbs are good." Hearing this, Fitz nodded, and went to the kitchen right way. 'You'll need a lot of energy, especially for the second phase," Jemma continued, setting the tablet down, and placing her hand on Skye's shoulder. Then, looking around the room and seeing the puzzled looks on the guys' faces, she added in explanation, "that's the… erm… the pushing part."

Mack let out a strangled, little sound.

"Okay," he said, putting down his now presumably empty beer bottle, "I think it's time for me to go to sleep." He clapped his hands, stood up, and stepped to Skye; seemingly unsure of what to do exactly, he stood hesitating in front of her for a moment – meanwhile she looked up at him, blinking –, then bent down a little, reached for her shoulder, then changed his mind in the middle of the movement, and ended up patting her belly. "Good luck, Tremors. See you in the morning!" And with that, he walked out of the room.

Watching him go with a pensive look on his face, Lance slowly shook his head.

"It's always those who seem the strongest fall first," he said, earning a slap on the back of his head from Bobbi.


	3. Part III

**Part III**

To their credit, despite their initial unease of varying degree, the others did stay in the lounge, and did their best to help Skye through the contractions, even if only by talking about trivial things, trying to take her mind off the pain, something for which Grant was very grateful.

After consuming the big plate of spaghetti Bolognese Fitz'd prepared for her, Skye's labor seemed to pick up – although Grant didn't keep up with the readings of the sensor, he did pay great attention to Skye. The contractions seemed to come more frequently, and lasted longer, causing more and more lulls in the conversation, which somehow moved to teasing topics, to keep the mood as light as possible.

Even Skye's reaction to the contractions changed slightly over time – even though she had gotten through the first one after coming to the lounge simply by closing her eyes and breathing evenly, soon, it didn't seem to be enough. She started fidgeting, searching for a more comfortable position when she felt the next contraction coming – sitting sideways, pulling her legs under herself, leaning heavily against his side, sometimes rubbing her stomach, then switching to pressing down at her lower back. Grant caught up to that pretty soon, and started massaging the small of her back as soon as he could see the next contraction coming, which earned him a grateful smile.

When she started whimpering through contractions at around one in the morning, he almost made her go to the delivery room on an impulse, but then the contraction passed, and she was smiling again, teasing Hunter about who knows what. She was absolutely remarkable, and he was completely awed by her.

It was nearing half past one in the morning when Jemma's phone finally rang – she didn't even excuse herself and leave the room, but just simply picked it up where she sat in an armchair opposite of Skye, tablet balanced on her knee, constantly – and somewhat compulsively – checking the readings of Skye's sensors. It was Dr. Hartland – the baby of her other patient finally safely delivered, she was ready to be picked up and brought to the base, for the second delivery of the night (well, the first one of the morning, more likely), which made Grant sigh in relief – with Skye's labor progressing the pace it seemed to be progressing, he was actually starting to worry that the doctor wouldn't get there in time.

Trip didn't even have to be asked – he stood up right away, ready for the journey.

"I hope Mack had the new SUV ready," he commented, snatching his jacket from the back of one of the chairs around the conference table, then he nodded at Lance. "Up – you're coming with me."

Lance let out a half-heartedly indignant sound at that.

"What? What did I …?"

"You're my back up," Trip interrupted, grinning. "Now, hurry up."

Hunter looked at Bobbi, gaping, waiting for some kind of protection from her. Bobbi looked at him, considering, then her gaze turned to Trip.

"Take him," she told him simply.

Hunter looked scandalized.

"Don't you think I'll forget that," he said, making a little, yet over-exaggerated, "I see you"-gesture. Trip just grinned, shrugging on his jacket, then clapped Hunter on the shoulder with a little too much force – enough to make his knees buckle – on purpose.

"Let's go, British, we don't have the whole night," he told him, then stepped to Skye, who was standing behind the couch then, leaning over the back of it with Grant at her side, just coming down from a contraction. He waited until the pain subsided enough that she opened her eyes and her posture relaxed slightly, then pulled her into a hug. "Hang in there, baby girl," he told her, kissing her forehead. Skye gave him a tired, little smile.

"I'll do my best."

"Good. You know, I can't wait to meet your little acrobat." He squeezed her hand one last time. "I'll hurry with the doc," he promised.

"Just be careful," she told him, leaning on the back of the couch with one hand, the other on her belly.

"I always am," Trip grinned, then turned from her, clasped Grant's shoulder in passing, then left in the direction of the hangar, waving at the disgruntled Hunter to follow.

With them left, Skye stepped around the couch and carefully lowered herself on the cushions, enjoying her brief rest between contractions. Grant stayed standing, settling behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her, helping her relax. With time, even his anxiety lessened – well, at least he managed to push it aside and focus at the task at hand – which, at the moment, was to make Skye as comfortable as possible.

One hand placed at the top of her belly, Skye looked around the room, and Grant followed her gaze – only the five of them remained, Jemma, once again, preoccupied by the readings, Fitz sitting still, watching Skye, and Bobbi, picking up the mess the guys had left. For a minute or two – until Skye's next contraction came – none of them said anything, just enjoyed the silence a bit.

When the wave of the contraction hit her, Skye squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back, trying to breathe evenly as she rubbed her lower stomach, until she let out a low, painful moan. This one lasted for fifty seconds – Grant had timed it.

When it was over, Skye placed her hand on top of his still on her shoulder, and looked up at him with tired eyes, but a faint smile on her lips.

"I think I wanna go now," she told him, eyes flickering towards the corridor and the makeshift delivery room.

Grant bent down, and kissed the top of her head.

"Then let's go."

* * *

"Five centimeters?" Skye said, her voice rising a bit as she lay back against the pillows with a huff. "I can't believe it… Nearly eight hours and only five centimeters…" she mumbled, hiding her face in her palms.

"Well, first labors do tend to run long," Jemma observed matter-of-factly, pulling off her latex gloves. Grant shot her a look; he knew she just wanted to help, but the thing is, she was so not helping with this. Thankfully, she got the message right away. "But look at the bright side!" she tried to sound cheery, but it sounded terribly forced; Grant could barely keep himself from letting out an irritated groan. "You're already halfway. And things do tend to quicken up in this stage."

Skye nodded weakly, face still obscured by her hands. Grant gently took one of them, pulled it away from her face and pressed a kiss against her palm. Skye lowered her hand and glanced up at him, a grateful smile on her face – then the next moment she shut her eyes in a painful grimace and squeezed his hand as another contraction hit her. He did what he could for her – held her hand, and murmured soothingly into her ear, reminding her to breathe, until the contraction passed.

She still refused to take any pain relief – as soon as they had moved to the delivery room, Jemma offered to give her and epidural, but Skye had simply shaken her head. She wanted to be in control, she had said confidently, but through her teeth as another contraction was building up. Grant hated to see her in such pain, but still, he didn't want to fight with her over this – it was her decision, and he honored it, and did everything in his power to help her through the pain.

Once again between contractions, she opened her eyes and sat up, trying to breathe deeply, evenly, while rubbing her belly.

"I really hope you'll be right, Jemma," she said, to which Jemma simply nodded, nervous little smile in the corner of her mouth. She then reached for the tablet, checked something once again, then locked the screen. Hugging it to her chest, she glanced quickly around the room, and then looked back at the couple.

"I'll leave you two alone now," she said, turning slightly towards the door. "If you need anything – anything – just call, okay?"

Skye merely nodded, trying to get off the bed.

"Thanks, Jemma," Grant replied, arms going around Skye's waits, helping her off.

Jemma gave them one last smile, and then she was gone.

The two of them left alone, Skye awkwardly waddled to the middle of the room – with Grant close behind her –, where they had put out a couple of blankets and pillows and such, and lowered herself on the birthing ball, rocking back and forth gently. Grant settled down on the floor behind her on his knees, putting his hands on the small of her back, gently massaging the tense muscles with his thumbs.

"Is it really bad?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, exhaling.

"Not right now; between contractions it's just…" she shrugged slightly. "I can feel her pressing down. This helps a bit," she said, indicating her soft rocking. Grant nodded.

"Do you want me to do anything?"

"No. Just… stay, okay?" she asked. And he did.

She didn't talk much afterwards; by half past two in the morning her contractions were coming every five minutes, and lasted for a full minute, and she was having a harder and harder time coping with them. First she stayed on the ball, freezing first when the contraction came, then forcing herself to continue the rocking movement, hoping that it'd help. A little later she stood wanting to walk a bit – hoping that gravity would help her, too. When the next wave of pain hit her, she leaned against him, pushing her forehead against his shoulder as he caressed her back, doing everything he could to help her through it.

He had read enough pregnancy book to know that some women at this stage hated to be touched, or even became somewhat aggressive towards their partners; not Skye, though, for which he was grateful. She let him to be close to her, welcomed his touch, whether standing up with him hugging her, or down on the floor on all fours, with him next to her, hands on her waist. She never once tried to push him away; in fact, she needed him close, he could see it on her eyes whenever he moved a little away from her. It made him feel useful and helpless at the same time, as he still couldn't do anything about the pain.

* * *

Her waters finally broke just before three a.m., a good nine hours into labor.

They had just found the position that might have been working the best for her – him sitting on the edge of the bed, with her on his knees, facing him, her arms around his neck, forehead resting on his shoulder. They were just getting through another contraction, Skye whimpering and rocking gently, trying to elevate some of the pressure (she had declined to get an epidural once again when he'd suggested it about twenty minutes before), when suddenly, he could feel some kind of wetness dampening his pants.

"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered (Fitz might have been rubbing off on her), her head still resting on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry… so sorry…"

"Did you just…" he started, not being able to keep himself from asking, but then she interrupted him.

"Oh, no, I didn't," she shook her head, but still didn't meet his eyes. "I think my water just broke – honestly, I actually felt it – it was like…" she briefly swallowed, "like a rubber band has just snapped. And then it just gushed out… And I can still feel it coming out – this is so gross…" she moaned, and really, now even he could hear as the liquid dropped on the floor.

"Hey, it's okay, nothing's happened," he murmured to her soothingly, kissing her forehead, feeling that she was on the verge of crying. With everything she's been through in the last couple of hours, it wouldn't have been surprising. "It's just a pair of pants, okay? No harm done."

He eased her down from his lap gently and helped her to lie down in the bed.

"I'll just go and change, okay? I'll be back in a couple of minutes." Alright, he'd give it to her – the way the damp material clang to his legs was actually kind of gross. "And I'll tell Jemma to take a look at you, okay?"

Skye nodded weakly, still a little shaken up.

"Just hurry back, please?"

He nodded, and kissed her forehead once again, brushing her aside with his thumb.

"Of course." he would have hurried anyway; he didn't want to leave her alone.

He found Jemma in the longue, softly dozing on the couch, her forearm laid across her eyes, while Fitz sat in the armchair, reading a book – something more serious than _Curious George_ by now – with half lidded eyes, but he looked up when he heard Grant approach.

"What's that on your, um…?" he asked, meekly gesturing towards the dark patch on Grant's grey sweatpants.

Grant just sighed and raised a hand, signaling Fitz to wait, then without any further comment, he leaned down and gently touched Jemma's arm to wake her up; Jemma, startled, all but jumped off the couch.

"What…? Is everything…?" she asked, somewhat disoriented, pushing her messy hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah, I think so, but," he gestured towards his pants somewhat apologetically, "it seems like Skye's waters have broken. Could you please take a look at her while I go and change?"

Jemma nodded, her wits quickly returning.

"Of course, of course," she said stood up, marching towards the delivery room, leaving the two men behind.

"Can I help somehow?" Fitz asked as soon as Jemma was gone, and then nodded. Grant eyed him slightly disapprovingly.

"Not really, but maybe you could go to sleep?" he suggested. "You look half dead on your feet."

Fitz shook his head, which was interrupted by a great yawn.

"Can't do. Too excited," he answered, making Grant smile.

"You're a great friend, Leopold Fitz."

"Yeah, I try," Fitz shrugged with a hint of a smile on his lips.

Rushing back to their shared bunk, Grant quickly changed (he threw the soiled pants to the trash right away – he wasn't going to find out whether amniotic fluid came out of cotton), then was already on his way back to the delivery room through the dim hallways lighted only by the emergency lights.

When he got back, Jemma'd just finished her examination.

"Her waters really did break – she is still dripping, actually, but that's normal–"

"And gross," Skye interrupted from the bed, well enough between contractions for a little sarcasm. Jemma gave her a wry smile, then continued.

"And she's at six centimeters – dilated a whole centimeter in one hour," she announced proudly. "And the baby's beautifully in position and her heartbeat is strong and steady – there shouldn't be any problems with getting her out," she added, reaching for Skye's hand. "Oh, and I just talked with Dr. Hartland right before you woke me, Grant," she continued, addressing her words mostly to Grant, as Skye was resting on the bed, eyes closed between contractions. "The guys had arrived, and they were just about to head back. With the traffic as it is this early, Trip said they should be in about an hour and a half."

Grant quickly glanced at the clock on the wall – it was just after three in the morning, so that meant that the doctor would be there, if everything went well, before five a.m., which sounded reasonably well. Provided that Skye continued to dilate at her current pace, the doctor was to arrive well before she was completely dilated and ready to push – although, he had to admit, that it had a lot of ifs.

As if she was reading his mind, Jemma placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, don't worry!" she told him, managing to sound convincing. "If, by some misfortune, Dr. Hartland doesn't get here in time – which I sincerely doubt –, I'm confident I can deliver this baby," she said, stepping from him and going to Skye, placing her hand on Skye's knee. "Everything looks great and completely complication free, so neither of you worry, okay?"

Skye merely nodded, her features contorting into a painful grimace as the next contraction hit, while Grant, rushing to her side, answered Jemma.

"We'll try, thanks," he said curtly, then focused his attention on Skye, helping her sit up and lean against him, trying to help her through the contraction. He vaguely heard Jemma say that she way going back to the lounge now, maybe to try and get some rest, and when he looked up, she was already gone.


	4. Part IV

**Part IV**

Skye remained laying down a bit after Jemma had gone, suffering through the next couple of contractions resting on her side, her knees pulled up, while Grant massaged her lower back, trying to lessen the tenseness in the muscles. By then, her contractions came every five minutes, and lasted a good sixty seconds.

Then around half past three, she became restless again, unable to find a position comfortable enough. Firsts she pushed herself to all fours on the bed, groaning through a contraction or two with her head resting on the pillows. Then, with a little help, she climbed out of the bed and tried to walk around a bit, which worked well during the brief breaks between contractions, but when the pain hit, she needed something – preferably him – to lean on. Then by four a.m. she was on the birthing ball once again, rocking gently and breathing evenly in and out.

By then, he could definitely see her tiring; no matter how strong she wanted to seem (and she was strong), he saw her strength weaning – or at least it seemed so. No matter how strongly she gripped his hand during every contraction, he saw the light sheen of sweat on her skin, and how it took her more and more time to open her eyes after one, and how strained her breathing was. She had also barely spoken since Jemma left, and he was getting scared.

Because what if in the end it didn't go as seamlessly as Jemma was suggesting? What if Skye just ran out energy, and didn't have the strength to push the baby out? Or what if baby's heartrate dropped suddenly? Or if she got stuck? And if any of these things happened, were they prepared to solve the problem? Did they have the right equipment for a C-section, for example? (Knowing Jemma, they did, but he was still worried.) Surely, they couldn't do the procedure here… They'd have to move Skye to an operating room, and then they'd lose precious minutes… (Maybe they should go there right now?) And anyway, shouldn't she have had an epidural, after all? Because if something did go wrong, they could open her up right away, and then they wouldn't lose time, and in a situation like this every second mattered. Maybe he should bring up the topic once again, he thought, and try to convince Skye to ask for an epidural, and–

"You're think too loud," Skye's voice interrupted his train of thought, sounding clear and strong.

"Sorry?" he shook his head, trying to get his bearings.

"I said you are thinking to loud," Skye repeated. She reached for his hand, indicating that she wanted to stand up; he helped her to get on her feet. "Your thoughts are like…" she winced, "all over the place, echoing. It's maddening. Could you stop, please?" she asked, stranding up on her own, one hand on the small of her back, the other the lower part of her belly, eyes half-closed. "If you overworry, then I'm going to overworry, and that's not good for anybody."

He quite idiotically shook his head.

"No, you should stay calm," he said.

"Exactly," she nodded, then, with legs a little shaky, she walked over to the bed. He helped her to sit down on the edge. "Are you really this scared?" she asked softly, her legs dangling from the bed, supporting herself with one hand, the other caressing her belly.

"Terrified," he answered honestly – which was no small feast, because he hated to be seen vulnerable –, and Skye smiled.

"You are cute. But try to stay po – oh, oh…" Her sentence was cut short as the pain took over again, making her unable to do anything, but focusing on the contraction, riding the wave. He grabbed her hand, letting her to squeeze his, while murmuring to her ear, reminding her to breathe.

"Do you need something?" he asked when the contraction was over, desperate to do something useful. "Can I do something for you?"

Skye nodded weakly, eyes still closed.

"It's a bit stupid, but…" she paused for a moment, swallowing, then leaning forward a bit to rest her forehead on Grant's shoulder. "Could you go up to Coulson's office?"

He blinked at that, but nodded right away.

"Sure. Why?"

"Bring down the record player for me?" she asked. "And that album, it's… ah, it's on the self, it's green and has those blue letters… I can't remember the title…"

"It's okay," he assured her, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head. Coulson had yet to arrive back to the base as far as he knew, so asking for permission to relocate the record player was out of the question, but Grant was confident that he wouldn't mind anyway. It was Skye asking for it, after all. "I'll bring it down right away. You try and rest for a bit until I'm back, okay?" he told her, pushing her back a bit, and kissing her forehead this time. Eyes still closed, Skye made a little, agreeing sound.

He helped her settle back against the pillows, more like sitting than lying, then, after another stolen kiss, he left the room quickly, not wanting to leave her alone longer than absolutely necessary.

He half-expected the lounge to be empty by then, but no – Fitz was still there, sitting in the dim room, this time not even having anything in his hands – so maybe he really was a nervous wreck (even more so than Grant) over Skye's labor. But he raised his head as soon as he heard Grant's approaching footsteps.

"Is everything okay? Do you need Jemma?" he asked, talking fast, already standing up, and gesturing towards the door leading towards the hangar. "She has just gone to the entrance, waiting for the doc and the guys there – they should be here any minute now."

Grant just waved in dismissal, then nodded towards the stairs leading to Coulson's office.

"I was just going to take Coulson's record player," he explained. "Skye's asking for it."

"I can do that," Fitz perked up, walking up to him. "I can bring it down; can even put it together. You just go, go back, I'll do it," he said firmly; Grant had a feeling that he was just as eager to finally be able to do something to help as he was.

"Thanks, Fitz," he clapped the younger man on the shoulder, then turned to go back to the delivery room. But after three steps, he stopped in his tracks. "Oh, and Skye wants some album with a green cover," he added, turning back, and seeing Fitz nod uncertainly, then start for the stairs. Grant was half sure that had he not mentioned the album directly, Fitz would have showed up with the machine, but with no music – a thought that finally made him smile.

* * *

When he got back to the room, Skye was lying on her side in the bed, lightly dozing between contractions – but awake enough to raise her head slightly when he closed the door.

"Grant?" she said softly.

"I'm here, babe," he answered, walking to her side and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Fitz'll bring down the record player in a bit," he said softly, caressing her hair; it had mostly come out of the braid, and was messy, damp with sweat. "And he says the doc should be here any minute now."

Skye nodded weakly, her eyes still closed, but she didn't say a word for a while.

"I'm so doing it in water next time," she said then abruptly. Grant laughed in spite of himself. "But really," she continued, "I should have thought of it sooner – we could have totally put up one of those inflatable pools here."

Grant let out a soft chuckle.

"This one hasn't even been born yet, and you are already thinking about a next baby?" he asked smiling.

"Well, yeah – I'm not about to have her to be an only child," she said confidently, eyes still closed, wincing a little as she turned slightly around. "I want a big family."

He looked down fondly.

"Alright," he said, leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Next time we have a baby, let's get you a pool."

Before Skye could have answered with anything than a faint smile, there was a tentative knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" Fitz asked, opening the door slightly. "Is she decent?"

Grant almost chuckled at that; like either of them still cared even a bit what Skye was wearing. As a matter of fact, she had been down to a sports bra for some time, not even bothering to put her pants back on after Jemma's first exam when they had moved to the delivery room, and had lost the oversized plaid shirt she had been wearing over it around two in the morning. But right then, lying in the bed, she had a thin blanket pulled over her, covered enough not to offend Fitz's virtue and make the engineer red like a tomato.

"Come in," he called to Fitz. The door opened with a soft creak, and the younger man walked in, clutching the record player and the album awkwardly under his arm.

"Hey, Fitz," Skye called softly, raising her head a bit. "How are you holding up?"

Grant let out a strangled little chuckle – yeah, give it to her to ask Fitz how he was while in labor.

Fitz blinked at her a couple of times as he set down the record player on the chest of drawers by the wall, fumbling with the power cord, then shrugged.

"Pretty well. And you?"

"I'm – oh…" she squeezed her eyes shut and bit into the blanket, trying not to groan out loud as the pain from the next contraction hit her in waves. Still, she couldn't keep completely silent, moaning as her womb contracted, a single tear leaking from her closed eyes.

By then Grant had known what to expect, and what to do to help; he pressed down at her lower back as they'd been doing for most of the night, and murmured soothing things into her ear. But the intensity of the contraction startled Fitz, who stood there, frozen still, for a moment, not sure what to do – should he go there to them, could he even help somehow? –, but then mentally shook himself, and turned back to setting up the record player.

By the time the contraction passed and Skye slightly relaxed again, pleasant, vivid jazz music filled the room. Not exactly the calming sounds of the ocean, but to be honest, Grant would have felt a little disappointed if she had wanted something like that as background music.

"This is what you wanted?" Fitz still asked a little uncertainly. "Did I bring the right album?" he continued, picking up the cover to study it.

"Yeah, this is it," Skye assured him, nodding slightly. "Thanks, Uncle Fitzy."

Fitz grinned wildly at that.

"You're welcome. I'm um… I'm going to go now," he gestured towards the door. "See if the doc has arrived, and if she needs any help. But… call me if you need anything, okay?"

Both Skye and Grant nodded, although it seemed like the former was slightly dozing again, gathering strength for what was to come.

"Thanks, Fitz," Grant answered for her, caressing her hair. "See you soon?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "when, er… when the baby is born. Um… all the best, guys. Good luck, really." And with that he left, bumping into the door on his way out.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Skye chuckled softly.

"I can't wait to see him hold the baby for the first time," she told Grant, mumbling her words into the pillow. "He's going to be so awkward. And then he's going to cry."

Grant grinned, not being able to disagree with this prediction.


	5. Part V

**A/N:** This is the second to last chapter of this story, but I can't promise that you'll get the last one tomorrow. It's still only half-written, and I don't know if I can finish it until tomorrow. Also, November 12th will be the first anniversary of the publishing of my first AOS fic – ever since then I've written and published over 187K words of AOS fics, and I fully intend to bring this number to 200K for the anniversary :P

* * *

 **Part V**

It was already past half past five in the morning when finally there was an unfamiliar knock on the door, soon followed by Dr. Hartland entering the room with Jemma on her heels; Grant couldn't stop the faint, relieved smile from appearing on his face.

"Good morning," she greeted them in an almost cheerful voice, although Grant could see the deep lines of exhaustion on her face; the night had been long for her too. But it was also the moment when it finally occurred to him that it was morning – the sun must have been close to rising outside the base, the bottom of the horizon slowly fading into green first, then pink. In an hour or two, the morning light would reach everything outside; it seemed fitting somehow – that his daughter should be born in the start of a new day.

His thoughts elsewhere, it took him a moment to return the greeting, but Hartland only gave him an amused look – he had a feeling she had been accustomed to this kind of behavior.

"How are you faring?" she continued without missing a beat, stepping to Skye and placing her hand on her blanket-covered knee. "Dr. Simmons here tells me you have been refusing pain relief." There was no disapproval in her voice, it was just a simple statement of facts.

"Holding up," Skye answered, eyes fluttering closed. "Eager to be done with it."

Hartland lightly chuckled at that.

"I can imagine," she said, then with an amused glint in her dark eyes, she turned to Grant. "And what about you?" she asked with an eyebrow raised high in challenge, making Grant want to sit up straight and chuckle and the same time, as he knew exactly what she was referring to.

During Skye's pregnancy they had only visited the doctor a handful of times, preferring to do all exams they could at the base and consulting her via telephone or video conferences, but still, there were times when they simply had to go and see Hartland in person. One of these visits about two months ago had ended with Hartland asking about their birth plans – Skye, of course, had declared right away that he'd be there with her all along, before getting to any other details. Back then Hartland had simply nodded, revising Skye's plan with her, adding bits and pieces here and there. But when they had finished and Skye had been told that she could dress up, Hartland had asked Grant to stay back a bit.

" _Look," the doctor told him, looking straight in his eyes, "in general, I have no problem with the father being there for the birth," she continued, getting straight to the topic, without beating around the bush. "However, I have a couple of rules. Not many, but I'm adamant about them."_

 _Grant nodded briefly._

" _Understandable," he said, looking intently at her, just like as if he was at some kind of mission debrief (in a way, he was). "For example?"_

" _You can stay as long as your presence helps. As soon as I see that you are bothering the mother – you are out of the room" she stated simply, without blinking. "You are aggravating her – you are out. You are making a scene – you are out. You make her focus on you and worry about you – you are out. Also," she added with a glint in her eyes, "If you pass out, I won't mop you up."_

 _Now, Grant really chuckled a bit at hearing that._

" _Look, I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist. I guess I have–" Hartland raised a hand, efficiently silencing him (really, that woman could have made an excellent operative, he thought; she had the ability to keep people in line)._

" _I'm sure you are a skilled, capable agent," she said. "But believe me when I say that I just had an army veteran last week, somebody who has done two tours in Afghanistan, faint – collapse like a sack of flour – at the first sight of blood. So excuse me if I like to make things clear."_

 _Well, there was a reason he liked this woman._

Returning to the present, Grant smiled reassuringly at the doctor.

"Great," he told her. "A bit nervous, but doing everything I can to help."

"I second that," Skye added promptly before squeezing her eyes shut as another concentration hit her, a low, growling sound breaking free from her throat. Hartland, just like Jemma had done in the beginning, turned her attention to the tablet in her hand right away, while Grant did what he could to help Skye through the contraction.

When the pain finally subsided, Hartland couldn't stop herself from turning briefly towards Jemma, and giving her an approving little smile.

"It's amazing what an imaging systems you have here, Dr. Simmons," she told Jemma, slightly awed, before turning her attention back to Skye. "Now, let's see where are we at right now, shall we?"

Grant tried stay out of the way while staying by Skye's side during Dr. Hartland's examination – she checked Skye and the baby's heartbeat, felt Skye's belly to see the baby's position, and checked how dilated she was. When she was done, she consulted the tablet first, taking another look at the last couple of hours' readings, before turning to them.

"Everything looks great, and you are at eight centimeters," she told them. "Which is good," she emphasized, "because it means that you are getting closer to the finish line. But it also means that you should go into transition soon – which won't be a stroll in the park. I assume you still don't want pain relief? Think it through – it's maybe your last chance to get an epidural, if you want."

A part of Grant wanted to stay yes, but Skye simply shook her head.

"No, I'm good. I can handle this," she said determined, stubborn.

"Alright," Hartland said, nodding. "Then I'll leave you alone now – give you space, but I'll be just down the hall, and I'll look back often, alright? Call me of you need anything, or if you are experiencing something you perceive as strange. Also, do you want anybody else to stay with you, to give you support?"

Skye, once again, shook her head.

"Now, I'm good. I really am."

"Okay," Hartland consented to this, before turning towards Grant. "And I assume you know what to do?" she asked with a slight challenge in her voice, to which Grant nodded. Yes, he knew what to expect, more or less. He had read the books, and was well aware that the hardest, most challenging part was coming.

And he was almost completely sure he could handle it.

"Then okay," Hartland nodded, turning towards the door. "Dr. Simmons, maybe meanwhile you could show me around? Only the parts of the base that are not classified, of course," she added with a small smile. "And I wouldn't turn down a cup of coffee, either."

"Of course," Jemma nodded, gaze moving from Hartland to Skye, then back to Hartland. Then she blinked and slightly shook her head, as if trying to get her mind straight. "Of course," she repeated, "this way, please," she gestured towards the door – the very one Hartland entered only minutes ago –, letting the doctor go ahead. Jemma followed her right away, but before closing the door, she stepped back momentarily, grinned at them, and held up a thumb towards them. "Good luck!" she mouthed, and then she left.

In spite of himself, Grant let out a little chuckle; mostly because of nervousness, but partly also because Jemma had just proved once again that she and Fitz were exactly on the same wavelength.

"It looks like it's just you and me once again, Robot," Skye said then, grunting softly as she pushed herself up into sitting position, one hand on her bump, the other behind her. He moved right away, helping her to slide to the edge of the bed.

"Seems like it, Rookie," he answered, smiling. "For the last time," he added, caressing the hard curve of her belly; she placed her hand over his and raised her head to look into his eyes, beaming.

"Yep; are you ready, daddy?"

* * *

Things really started picking up a couple of minutes later – since, as predicted, Skye went into transition –, and he experienced firsthand (well… _second_ hand) that the books weren't lying: it really seemed like the worst part yet.

They have reached a stage when the contractions were seemingly lasting longer than the breaks between them, and their intensity reached the peak. Skye, who had until then gritted her teeth and pushed through every single contraction almost stoically, only to smile and crack a joke in the lull between them, now, her body pushed to its limits, she was starting to break.

By the third or fourth contraction in transition she was shivering, but rejected the blanket he tried to lay on her shoulders. She just couldn't find a comfortable position, so she kept moving around, leaning on things when another wave of pain hit, but refused to lie back down when he tried to lead her back to the bed. One moment she was shaking his hands off of herself, hissing at him not to touch her; the next moment she was desperately seeking his touch. Even between contractions, she remained silent, choosing to retreat into her own world. And when the pain was the most intense – a contraction lasting over a minute by then – she would grunt loudly, sometimes even cry out, trying to take the pain under control with vocalization.

And still, she met her breaking point.

It was already past six in the morning – the base was going to start waking up soon, at least the people who went to bed at all –, and Skye had been in labor for twelve hours; in transition for about half an hour. She was getting tired, and amidst the overwhelming pain and with the strange ways her body was behaving, she was starting to really feel it.

It was a grueling contraction, one that had her burrow her head into his shoulder and had her knees buckle, forcing him the keep her upright while he kept caressing her back and murmuring encouraging words into her ear. And halfway through it, her shoulders began to shake, and he could feel her tears dampening the material of his shirt.

"I can't…" she panted weakly once the contraction passed, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. "I can't do this… I can't."

He slid his fingers into her hair – her braid had mostly come undone by then –, kissed the top of her head, then tilted his head back a little and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Of course you can," he told her with total conviction, running his hands down her arms, then gently leading her towards the bed again. This time she went with him. "You are the strongest person I know."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his, exactly in the position they had been when her waters had broken; she had seemed to find this position comfortable back then, and he couldn't care less if another pair of his pants ended up in the trash.

"I'm tired, so tired, and it hurts so much," she went on, her voice breaking.

Not knowing how else he could comfort her, he kissed her forehead once again.

"You are almost there," he told her in his most reassuring voice. "Remember what the doctor said? You are almost there; you just have to hold on a little while longer," he kept talking, caressing her back and putting pressure on her lower back, trying to lessen the tension there this way.

Talking – and touching – seemed to help, even if only a little bit; Skye seemed a little less agitated, a little less lost, so he kept up. He vaguely remembered something about visualization – about imagining holding your baby in your arms – as a way of pain relief, so when the next contraction passed, he started talking to her about that.

"Just a little while longer, and she'll be here, okay?" he told her, brushing her sweaty hair behind her ear. "And she'll be perfect – a tiny, little princess. With your big, doe eyes and mischievous smile, and hands so small she'll barely be able to grasp your finger… Can you see it, Love?"

She didn't react in any way – she didn't speak or even nod –, but maybe she held his neck a little stronger, and maybe she didn't shudder that much during the next wave of pain.

The clock ticked by. He kept talking, even if he was almost sure she didn't even hear him; she seemed to be absorbed in her own world, focusing on her body's clues to get through the contractions, but she didn't say again that she couldn't do it, either, and when he fell silent after some time, she looked up at him, and asked him to continue.

People came and went. Jemma came to check on them about fifty minutes after she had left; she told them, or more like him, in hushed tones, that Hartland was just checking the base's operating theatre to make sure that if anything should go wrong, it would be ready for them.

"Not that" Jemma added hastily, sneaking a somewhat scared glance at Skye "we are expecting anything to go wrong. You are doing beautifully," she said, brushing a hand along Skye's arm. Skye only reacted with a weak nod, then turned her head away and moaned, as the break between her contractions ended and the pain returned. Jemma just blinked, not exactly sure what to do, then offered to bring some cool water and washcloth for him to help him cool Skye with it.

May came in around six, looking rested and ready for battle – any kind of battle –, just to inform them that she had finally managed to reach Coulson and that he was on his way back – even thought it would be a couple of hours before he got back.

"Then he won't be back in time," Skye said quietly, her eyelids dropping; Grant could have sworn he had even seen a single tear on the rim of her eye.

May gave her a little, sympathetic smile.

"He won't, but don't worry, I plan to put him through hell for it," she promised, then reached out and took Skye's hand. "But until then – do you want me to stay?"

Skye shook her head.

"No, I'm okay – I have a great partner." Grant couldn't see it, his chin resting on the top of her head, but he was sure she was smiling softly. "And sorry, but I really don't want a crowd here. You go and… and keep the others in line, okay? Tell them that the first one to cry is on diaper duty for the first week."

Grant chuckled in spite of himself – it seemed like Skye was over her deep point, and was joking again.

May promised that she'd do that and then left, only to be replaced by Hartland barely a couple minutes later. She had Skye lay down once again so she could do a quick exam, after which she concluded that the baby was in position, but Skye still wasn't fully dilated yet – she was at nine centimeters, almost there, but not quite. Then she left them again, instructing Skye to call her as soon as she felt the urge to push.

After that, she didn't really have the willpower to get out of the bed again, so Grant just climbed in behind her, supporting her back and wiping her forehead and neck with the wet cloth Jemma had brought. This was how Jemma found them ten minutes later, asking anxiously if they needed anything. Then she left, too, only to be back another couple of minutes later, a worried look on her face; she consulted the tablet, and adjusted some things on the selves, then, excusing herself, she went out of the room to take care of something. But she was back in another ten minutes with another flimsy excuse, eager to help or at least do something, and too high strung to stop moving around.

Grant could relate.

By the time Jemma left for the third time, it was already well past seven in the morning, and Skye had been in transition for over an hour and an half – and even though she was holding up remarkable well, he could see what a tough ride she was going through (he couldn't help but think of all the agents, enemy or ally, he had met through the years, who lauded themselves as people who can withhold any kind of torture, only to break under a fraction of what Skye was experiencing now). She was shivering again and was barely able to keep down that little juice he managed to convince her to drink. But all the while he kept talking to her, kept trying to keep her spirits and strength up, promising her that she was almost there.

And finally, they reached that point.

It was seven forty-two in the morning – he just glanced at the clock on the wall –, when as the last contraction passed, Skye relaxed slightly in his arms, and let out a little sigh.

"I think…" she started, then swallowed, maybe not exactly sure of what she was about to say. "I think I need to push."


	6. Part VI

**A/N:** Turns out, this is not the last chapter yet – there'll be still an epilogue of sorts, which I originally planned to publish with this scene, but then a lovely anon asked on Tumblr whether there will be an update today, so I decided to cut up this chapter.

* * *

 **Part VI**

To her credit, Dr. Hartman was in the room within three minutes, looking refreshed and alert, ready for battle and taking charge right away.

"Okay, Skye," she said from the end of the bed where she took seat on a stool, a tray with different instruments (that he didn't want to think about) on it ready at her side. "You are fully dilated, so we can get really started," she said energetically, as if the fact that she finally had something to do other than observe fueled her. "When the next contraction hits, I want you to push – push with all you have, and try to keep it up as long as you can. Then we'll rest until the next contraction, okay?"

Skye simply nodded, pushing herself a little higher; she was more-or-less sitting near to the edge of the bed, her legs opened wide, leaning against him as he sat behind her. Out of transition and finally nearing the finish line, she seemed to be riding a fresh wave of energy – she was holding herself more surely, and with a kind of determination that made him proud. Not that he hadn't been incredibly proud of her already.

And then the contraction hit, and she pushed – she closed her eyes and squeezed his hand (the one he wasn't using to wipe her brow with a cool washcloth) and pushed, a low groan tearing free from her throat. She kept it up for an impossibly long time – at least it seemed so to him –, then leaned back against him, taking deep, measured breaths and her muscles going lax.

"That was great," Dr. Hartman praised her gently, looking up at Skye from her position at the end of the bed. "I see you didn't forgo training during your pregnancy," she said with a little half smile.

(Yeah, he could attest to that – even if she had given up sparing and the more straining exercises as soon as they had found out that they were going to have a baby, Skye kept working out – even if it only meant some kind of special yoga developed for pregnant women – until the very end of her pregnancy.)

"Yeah," Skye nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I wasn't going to let myself go – I have to get back to the _field_ , you know."

Hartman let out a soft laugh at that, getting her meaning.

"Well, you did it well – it's going to help you now." She paused for a moment, then added, "Are you ready for the next one?"

Grant wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting – based mostly on how birth was usually depicted in movies and on TV –, but the real deal wasn't nearly that. Even with the excitement of "almost there" bubbling under the surface, it was almost… peaceful. There was no panicking or frantic shouting or loud cries. Apart from some low groans, Skye was mostly silent during contractions, clutching his hand and focusing at the task at hand; Dr. Hartland remained completely calm throughout the whole thing, coaching Skye through it with gently encouraging words; Jemma, who was also in the room to assist Dr. Hartman, stood silently aside, waiting for when she could help. And him? He did his best to support and encourage Skye, wiping her brow and holding her hand and massaging her shoulders, whichever she needed the most at the moment.

There was another thing in which the real deal seemed to differ from its fictionalized version: it seemed to last an eternity.

She had been pushing for a good fifteen minutes and – at least from his side of the bed – there seemed to be no progress. And although Dr. Hartland's spirits remained unbroken, and she kept gently encouraging Skye to help her go on, he could soon feel her starting to tire. She had been in labor for thirteen, almost fourteen hours by then, and even her second wind of energy – the one that hit her when she had started pushing – was slowly fading.

"She keeps slipping back," she said leaning against him after the sixth or seventh contraction, as if she was reading his thoughts, her lips trembling a little. "She just keeps slipping back."

"It's completely normal," Dr. Hartland assured her promptly. "Don't worry – you are making progress, your baby is slipping further and further forward with every contraction, it's just that your body has to adjust to her. You are getting there, just hang on, okay?"

Skye closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, but then nodded, her determination returning as she opened her eyes again.

"Okay," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I can do this."

"Now, that's something I like to hear," Hartland remarked, beaming at her. "Ready for the next one?"

Whether she was ready or not, the next contraction came, and so she pushed, gathering all the energy she had left – and as impossible as it seemed to him, this energy lasted into the next one, two, three contractions. Something urged her along – the feeling that she was almost done, the promise of their daughter safely in her arms –, and it was enough to give her all the energy she needed.

And her efforts were soon rewarded.

"I can see the head," Dr. Hartland announced, looking up at them briefly. "She's emerging; do you want to feel her?" she asked from Skye. "You can reach down."

Skye weakly nodded, then reached down between her legs with one hand; Grant craned his neck, trying to see what was going on down there, but he couldn't see anything from behind her.

"Wow," Skye said then, as she, no doubt, gingerly touched the top of the baby's head. "It's so strange…" she let out a teary little chuckle, obviously overwhelmed. "It's so… warm and tiny… is that hair?"

"Yes, she seems to have a good deal of hair," Dr. Hartland nodded, smiling, which again prompted Grant to try to look.

"Wait!" said Jemma suddenly, then turned around and went to the chest of drawers – where the record player was still playing the jazz record softly, for the fourth or fifth time –, only to return with a middle sized mirror a couple of seconds later, which she held in a way that both Skye and Grant could see the top of the baby's head.

Grant, suddenly feeling a little-light headed, promptly understood Hartland's skeptical look when he had insisted that he wouldn't faint like that vet did.

The whole thing, the reflection in the mirror, was strangely grotesque and infinitely exciting for his eyes. The baby was in fact emerging – her head bulging out, but only the top of it peeking out, a small circle covered in dark hair, wet from amniotic fluid, while droplets of blood showed here and there.

The thought of how humiliating it would be for him faint now flashed through his mind (in hindsight, maybe the most irrational thought considering the situation), then Jemma pulled away the mirror, and he shook his head, getting rid of the dizziness.

"Okay, now back to work," Hartland said, pulling everybody back to reality. "We are going to slow down now a little, okay, Skye?" the doctor asked her, to which Skye replied with a simple nod, taking a slow, deep breath. "When I tell you to stop, I want you to stop pushing, and give some little, panting breaths – we are going to slowly ease out the head, giving your body time to adjust. If we are doing it right, we might as well just get this baby out without a tear, alright?"

To this Hartland didn't even get a nod, because by the time she reached the end of the sentence the next contraction had already started, and Skye focused on that, concentrating with closed eyes so she'd push with enough force to get the baby further out, but not so much to hurt herself.

It seemed to be a tricky process, finding the balance, but with Dr. Hartland's help, Skye seemed to be managing it. The baby's head emerged slowly, almost millimeter by millimeter, while Hartland applied counter pressure to prevent tearing, and Jemma dutifully assisting in everything she could, from helping to hold Skye's legs to handing things to the doctor. It went on slowly, for three contractions, with Skye giving little, rapid pants between contractions, and when she wasn't pushing, obeying Hartland's orders. She didn't speak, didn't even give any sign that she was aware of anything other than the birth itself, but he could relate – he, too, was completely overwhelmed by the silent intensity of the moment.

"And we are crowning," Hartland announced then, pulling Grant out of his reverie. "I know you must be burning, but one more push, and the head is out, and then it'll be almost over, okay?"

This time Skye's eyes fluttered open, and she raised her head a bit to look at Grant over her shoulder. She squeezed his hand and nodded.

"Okay, let's do this," she said softly and a little hoarsely.

"That's my girl," he replied, brushing her hair away from her eyes, and kissing her forehead.

And then she was pushing again, this time crying out loud as if the volume she let out helped her.

"That's it, you are doing great," Hartland murmured, not looking at Skye, but reaching for a little bulb-like instrument on the tray. "The head is out," she said, this time a little louder, as she cleared the baby's nose and mouth.

Hearing this, Skye let out a long breath and leaned against him, curling a hand around his arm.

"Now, one last push, are you ready?" Hartland asked energetically, as if the closeness of the birth excited her as well. "The next contraction I'll help her shoulders out, and from then on, she should just easily slip out."

"I'm ready," Skye nodded, swallowing and pushing herself up a little – he helped her, supporting her back, leaning a bit closer himself.

There was a short lull there – a dramatic pause, if you will –, as they waited for the next contraction to start, and in the anticipation of the moment Grant could feel his heartrate quicken, his heart beating hard against his ribcage. That was it – a minute or even less, he'd be a father. Just a moment, and his baby girl will be out, taking her first breath and looking around for the first time in this world. He blinked hard, not letting the tears fall just yet.

Then he could feel Skye's body tense as her womb contracted again, pushing the baby out, and he could see Hartland gently moving her hands between Skye's legs, guiding the baby out, first turning her to one side, then as that shoulder came free, turning her to the other, and then…

And then she was out.

She was out, covered in vernix and splotches of blood, her eyes squeezed shut as she gave a harsh cry at being born into this cold place with its blinding lights.

Hartland held her up as soon as she was out, and Jemma moved right away, too, handing her a big towel to cover the baby with, and then she was quickly transferred to Skye's chest, wiggling and crying.

"Hey, hello, don't cry…" Skye cooed to the baby, her pain forgotten, and crying and laughing at the same time, gingerly touching the baby's little face and tiny hands, while rubbing her through the towel, trying to warm her up and clean her at the same time.

Grant couldn't even say the world – he just watched them, grinning like an idiot, trying to comprehend all the frantic emotions that were wreaking havoc inside of him. And then he reached out, too, running a careful finger along the top of the baby's hand, who, surrounded by familiar voices – Skye's voice and the sound of her heartbeat – was slowly calming down, her cries quietening, her eyes opening and blinking at this new, unfamiliar world.

And then her tiny fist closed around his finger, and suddenly everything was right in the world.


	7. Part VII

**AN/:** After nearly 16K words, this story is finally finished :) I'm sorry that you had to wait this long for the last chapter, but the story just wasn't agreeing with me. I had to shift around a few things in there, and in the second part of this last chapter there is even a change in the focal character – but I hope you guys won't mind it :)

* * *

 **Part VII**

They got a couple of minutes together, the three of them, but then it was time for bathing and examinations and measuring for the baby, and delivering the placenta for Skye, so the new family got separated, with Grant going with Jemma to tend to the baby, and Dr. Hartland remaining there with Skye.

(His daughter was born on June 1, 2015, at 8:37 a.m., weighing seven pounds and seven ounces, measuring twenty-one inches, and, according to Jemma, being completely perfect both in the medical and colloquial sense of the word.)

It wasn't until a nearly an hour later – the baby dressed up, sheets changed, Skye through a quick shower – that they finally got some peace.

It was kind of strange, surreal almost – sitting there on the edge of the mattress next to Skye, looking down at his newborn daughter in her mother's arms; he just couldn't completely comprehend how something so small and perfect and incredible could exist anywhere in this universe, let alone in the same room as him.

She really was a beautiful baby – or it's just that he was terribly biased –, with round, pink cheeks and lips like a tiny rosebud, and a tiny, button nose, and short – but rather thick, at least for a newborn –, dark hair. And it might have been crazy and way too soon, but he could have sworn he could already see Skye and himself in the little girl – Skye in the shape of her ear and the slant of her eyes and the arch of her barely-there eyebrow, while he was there in her cheekbones, and maybe in the shape of her nose, and the fairness of her skin; the dark hair could have come from either of them, and it was too early to tell the color of her eyes – they were still newborn-blue, and would be for a couple of weeks or months, before her irises turned either to his whisky-colored eyes, or Skye's dark chocolate orbs.

Wrapped up in a soft, white blanket – a gift from May –, with a tiny, pink hat on her head – sent straight from Scotland, knitted by Fitz's mom –, his daughter was dozing peacefully in her mother's arms, unaware of the amazed, loving look Skye was giving her.

Skye herself was radiant – glowing and beaming in spite of her apparent exhaustion. Grant doubted she'd stopped smiling for a moment since the baby had been born. But he could see the deep lines of exhaustion on her face and the slugginess of her movements, and knew that no matter how amazed she was by their baby, she needed her rest.

But, first of all, there was pressing matter that needed to be addressed.

"You know, we said we'd choose her–"

"Haylie," Skye said, not even waiting for him to finish the sentence or looking at him. "Let's call her Haylie."

Grant blinked.

"Haylie?"

"Yeah," Skye shrugged, shifting the baby a bit so she could look at him. "She looks like a Haylie, doesn't she?"

Grant blinked again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Haylie wasn't on their short list of names – actually, he doubted they'd even brought it up when they were looking for names. But… he actually liked it (at least, it was sure better than Antoinette and Cordelia). Haylie Ward. He liked the sound of that; it had a nice lilt. Haylie Ward.

"Alright," he said, reaching down and brushing a fingertip along the baby's – Haylie's – little fist. "It's a beautiful name. Let's call her Haylie." He leaned down and kissed the top pf Skye's head. "And what about Grace for middle name?" Again, it was a name that they had somehow never discussed, but he suddenly remembered it.

Skye smiled widely at him.

"Haylie Grace Ward," she said softly. "I like that."

Grant was just about to answer that – either verbally or non-verbally, he wasn't sure –, when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Hey, guys," stepped Jemma into the room almost tentatively, a small smile on her lips. "I know you need rest, peace and quiet, but the others are getting a little impatient, so… are you up for visitors?"

Grant was just about to object – the team could honestly wait a couple of hours until Skye had some rest –, but Skye was quicker than him.

"Just one," she said, shifting Haylie in her arms once again. "Could you send in Fitz, please?"

* * *

Fitz didn't sleep for a moment the whole night – even when exhaustion was dragging him down, anxiousness was keeping him up. Because could a birth really drag on this long? Or had something gone wrong? Should he go and check?

In the end, he stayed in the lounge, biting his nails and trying not to get too worked up.

Around seven a.m., the base was starting to wake up – people started milling around the lounge, making breakfast and brewing coffee, talking in hushed tones, as if they were afraid of disturbing someone. The tension was almost palpable.

As the day started, Fitz tried being productive, he really did – he brought up some schematics on his tablet, trying to solve a problem he had been stuck on before, but he made absolutely no progress (especially with glancing at the clock every five minutes).

It wasn't until just after quarter to nine when something finally happened.

He was just about give up the whole working-thing and have another coffee, when he heard quick footsteps approaching from the direction of the corridor which led towards the lab and the med bay – and, subsequently, the delivery room. He raised his head in an instant, and his gaze locked with Jemma's immediately; she was beaming.

"The baby's been born," she announced, her voice a little too loud and her words a little too fast in her excitement. "She is beautiful, and both her and Skye are doing just great."

To be honest, the next couple of moments were kind of a blur for Fitz – there was some triumphant shouting (most likely from Hunter), and he remembered hearing Trip say that he was going to open the champagne (Fitz didn't even know that they had champagne), and then he was hugging Jemma, while he could hear the buzz of Mack and Bobbi asking for details.

"Nothing much else to tell yet – and really, I have to go back now, I'll let you know when they are ready to have visitors." And with that, Jemma turned around, and returned to the delivery room in a quick pace.

For the first time in sixteen hours, Fitz let out a relieved sigh.

They were okay.

And with that thought, he all but collapsed on the couch, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

It felt like as if he had just closed his eyes when he woke to somebody touching his shoulder. His eyes flying open, he jumped a little, still half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, but then relaxed right away when he saw Jemma's smiling face above him.

"They want to see you," she told him, to which Fitz blinked.

"What?"

"Skye and Grant – they asked me to tell you to go and see them," Jemma clarified.

Fitz shook his head to clear his thoughts, then glanced at the clock on the wall – alright, so more than an hour had passed (which meant that he hadn't simply just closed his eyes for a moment or two as he'd thought).

"Of course, of course," he nodded, standing up – stumbling a little –, and starting to walk towards the corridor, hearing Jemma's delighted chuckle coming from behind his back.

He stopped in front of the delivery room's door – it was slightly ajar, as if to invite him in, but was he really supposed to bother them? He raised his hand to knock, but then hesitated, his hand hovering in the air, his fist barely an inch from the door. Maybe he should just go back, and let them rest – but then again, Jemma said they wanted to see him, so…

"Fitz!" he heard Skye's slightly hoarse voice from inside. "I can hear you. Come in already!"

The corners of his mouth pulling into a smile, Fitz pushed the door open.

They were there, Grant and Skye, the new dad perched on the edge of the mattress, a silly grin on his face, and Skye sitting in bed, propped up by pillows, looking like… well, like hell warmed over, but smiling happily. And in her arms, there was the source of all the excitement of the night – a tiny bundle wrapped up in white.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Skye said teasingly, making Grant chuckle, as Fitz slowly made his way towards them, pulling over a chair to sit on her other side. "We wanted you to meet somebody to you," she continued, stealing a glance at Grant. "Uncle Fitzy, please, let me introduce Haylie Grace Ward," she finished, handing him the baby.

Fitz tried to protest, he really did – he'd been a teenager when he had last held a baby, and he wasn't going to drop or… or squeeze or hurt Skye and Grant's baby in any other way now, but before he could have made a reasonable argument against taking the baby into his arms, she was already there, her head nestled safely in the crook of his arm, the soft blanket pressed against his chest.

She – Haylie, he reminded himself – had been dozing lightly until then, but being transferred from one person to another roused her. For a moment Fitz was sure she was going to cry – she was being handled by a complete stranger instead of her mother, so Fitz would have totally understood if she would have started bawling, demanding to be handed back to Skye –, but she simply opened her eyes and blinked at him, slightly confused, but interested, and then yawned, opening her tiny mouth wide, while flexing her – incredibly small – hands.

Fitz let out a small, amazed chuckle.

"You were the last one to learn about her," Skye continued softly, leaning back against her pillows and taking Grant's hand. "So I thought it'd be appropriate if you met her first from the team."

Tearing his gaze away from the baby, who was now closing her eyes again and gripping the blanket, Fitz raised his head, and looked at Skye and Grant.

"Thank you, it's, ah…" he paused, overtaken by his emotions and not really knowing what to say. "Thank you. She is…" he looked down again at Haylie, blinking. "She is perfect. Congratulations," he finished, wiping a stray tear away from the corner of his eye with one hand, and devoting his full attention to Haylie once again.

He was already thinking about all the great adventures they'd have together – sneaking her ice-cream before dinner, and taking her to the zoo, and teaching her about science, and… And being Uncle Fitz. To be honest, he was really looking forward to that.

Grinning and pushing a finger into Haylie's tiny hand so she could grip it, he could just barely hear Skye whisper to Grant.

"I told you he was going to cry. Pay up, Robot."


End file.
